"I suppose I can go now, if I leave my name
and address?" With those words, he put on his hat, and walked
out.
"He's a brute!" said the nurse.
"No," said the surgeon, quietly. "He's a man."
* * * * * * *
Between nine and ten o'clock that night, Mr. Bashwood awoke in
his bed at the inn in the Borough. He had slept for some hours
since he had been brought back from the hospital; and his mind
and body were now slowly recovering together.
A light was burning on the bedside table, and a letter lay on it,
waiting for him till he was awake. It was in his son's
handwriting, and it contained these words:
"MY DEAR DAD--Having seen you safe out of the hospital, and back
at your hotel, I think I may fairly claim to have done my duty by
you, and may consider myself free to look after my own affairs.
Business will prevent me from seeing you to-night; and I don't
think it at all likely I shall be in your neighborhood to-morrow
morning. My advice to you is to go back to Thorpe Ambrose, and
to stick to your employment in the steward's office. Wherever
Mr. Armadale may be, he must, sooner or later, write to you on
business. I wash my hands of the whole matter, mind, so far as
I am concerned, from this time forth.
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